Jill know

Jill _ Knows the cruel line of capital. cuts. kills . sheaves. ransacks. divides. s, lams into seperating boxes. the this of labour the that of cacacapital. it 's a Pit. she said, the CaCa of Pit. the shit go

shit pile high. uP to unIverSe sky out there. as the russian billionaire. and its outerspacing calamity|

Is the absolute split here chopping between two hands
A karate chip block between two.
its the horricane of capital


marinate on that

marinate on that . marinate marinarrate not medi cate. or say unconscious meditation. _ work off the bevel of the inwarding strata .


Jill works to marinate her navigate
as her wrought iron's grill to desire. its girt spent thighing nightwork. how we sing the nighting of its feminine rhymes. its becoming becoming not imitating.

are you star? are you ving?
ving to star its captured plane heart. in your radio you are filled with castles and war. not the couraged lion of part semble or wordsemble but assembled bawy to its lake cat light. this will be thisis willbe.

"her" ass furies the night. her vagina worries "the" sun. in a strata called judgement her paradise's cost is foundered by fit and fairy. not the word verb calm and clamboured to its french syllable but recondite as stronger words. not memory's lazy sieve..

So shipping hipping and waybills open the door to her treated lave.


the cow juniper jumped

the cow jumped over the moon

lunatic Jill. Had her radio blare on full blast


Not the blastula symptom of her self-rempli but her desirous machine

connecting. Was there paranoia in the molar nodes? or a bollard to harbor her

hip? Was hip the dancing girl of well reading Doctor Deleuze or her

amaze that second hand accounts mattered?

Her question was Ulyssean odyssean blank blank blank. Like any

navy kid. Bookstores galore in her britain was their only

delivered hope

If bookstores read her then all the letter.

We seem them as we really are.

A wide mouth.

For the sea to all them awl .

O come now such a wide berth her mouth

her wide mouth

wider hipping

well if reading Deleuze is dandy so then is her Guattari. At every shop she seized its itinerant shaky machine.

Flex felix was the guattari on her playing paranoia recording.

Over again the top-------------------

Felix has her only name: Experimenting: Cog wheel VCR. Close to . Near at hand. The breath worth. Past the number. Open the pair. The pear! The pair. Not the peach . Rivered to none. At nones there was every mass. Matins to jolly jill summer.

A proem is born : schizonalysis; prose poetry. Not chickens to sunset but harbingers to birth death and marriage.

And this was Fanny on her button-hole buttony buttocks as ribs to spare ribs was spring to her hailing wheat. The conjunction of old and new images.


O ubiquity of books and poor.


episodic plateau Near

The Transfer
When Franny left Lacan's office she decidedly felt like nothing. She had lost her petit objet a forever. what could she do?She had to find a something or other to project her derisoire desires onto, into, in through and around. A revolution came along. She changed her name to situation and her name was slid around the throat of revolutionary men, and workers. There were no workers that were revolutionary inthe same mind set. What mind set was that? Franny called Lecan, but the great Dean of the Ecole Freud was not in. And besides one was,, to hell with one, you were not allowed to call the analyst guy after one of you left. All those terrible gooey attachments would remain inthe way. You needed time to let things settle. Or else. the shit hit the fans, do you think I was bornwith the last rain-fall? Well,, if this keeps happening. I will call Jill. She said. And waited forthe bus to stop in the rain, and her scopic drive was humming as she wished for the bus to come sooner, or not so soon as that but soon enough as wisdom and old age had learned her the meaning of intimacy and the virtues of arriving on time, twogether with another and thenthis bloody transfer business was not so strong.Anyhow, what did the analyst know about her situation, oneof poverty and nights alone inthe line -up? Nothing at all.

She speaks in propria persona.

1. Analytic therapy on the couch for 11 months. 2. Group analysis inthe group for the women who couldnt hold their tongues. 3. I am not Oedipus and was not meant to be. But mother said I should never have been born. I Qu it eeEdipuuussee 4. So then back to group therapy and finding a collective id-identity-kit. Well Mister Petit Objet a you don't take away the pain of life by living it again and again . Time the destroyer is time the preserver._ In deed let yer grope be forever fu sed in the grou p fu sion et non pas le practico-i nert! 5. Then the years of social workers. What did allthat mean. There was an institutional attachment as well to the walls and the desires which bespoke there. That secretary telling you how much she thought you were bright. But brilliant was better. Apparently. And she or you or both wanted to have sex. Or so someone thought. So they shot her. Or fired her. And that was the seduction theory, but it was all in your head. the mother figure woman comi ngto wish to wanto adopt you what happeneed ? what became of them did she? take it? her mo uth? 6. Why did Daddy Freud abandon the seduction theory? He had no Papa to glove 7. And then I became a thermo-dynamic field of radiation waiting to die as I waited for my entropy fields to build up. and let me vanish utterly without a hope in hell of surviving. 8. And then I met Jill. 9. And it was love at first sight. 10. The old room mate thought we were in love. And so we were, and it was so.


Then I pretended there was a series of texts called Fictions of JillDeleuze and FrannyGuattari and Mona. But there was none such thing. Not in the thousand days and nights. It was fantasy, a fantasy of Orpheus' who was the head singing in the rain. Having lost her head. His head. Is what made her sick. Malady is spiritual in the soul. The real me the self me, the soul me. As in Whitman, Walt. I sing herself the open road. Raid on selves the believers. And so many deliriums became the names the proper names all the names in history. Like lovers fingers over your face. And so night was. And it was the drive which drove that counted as your heart beats made the way for night and day. What did she know about that? Nothing at all. And so it was. And daddy freud knew nothing. I was kidding before when I said, it was not meant like that. I was saying I love her work and her. Well, she is nuts crazy. All psychoanalysts are, don't you know that by now? Oh thisis all so hard, take one term and spend many live times jerking it off the thread ofmeaning and desire. I read much of the night, and go south in the winter. Love. Hurry up Please it's time. Many faces spun past as she lay drifting her grammars coming all undone her bodies undoing and red river run red river run and the river slow floats back to its bay. And she says, Ah, but yes, Yes. Ah, but swoooned away. next episode Mona Gets Her Own Or the Mysterious Counter-Transfer.